


Guilty Pleasures

by Not_You



Series: The Zen And Art Of Getting Naked To Music [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Bruises, Comeplay, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Flash Thompson, Frottage, Gay Panic, M/M, No Aftercare, Reconciliation, Scratching, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stupidity, Top Drop, past bullying, repressed sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flash is learning all kinds of things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's a time and a place for flipping out about your sexuality, and it's called college. After a few too many awkward moments and weird wet dreams and that totally awkward drunken night of gay BDSM porn, Flash has come to realize that this is not going away. Thank god SHIELD is outside of his usual stomping grounds, so he can slink on down and see what happens. Flash likes strip clubs, so far. He can just sort of zone out on titties, hitting a blissful half-drunken state that's very comforting. He tips well and keeps his hands to his damn self, and it all works out. 

Now he shakes the rain off of his coat and looks around. The place looks as upscale as people say, and there's helpful waitstaff winding through the crowd. Flash passes them by in favor of finding a spot at one of the bars, settling in and ordering a rum and Coke. He's not really into beer, because it takes too much liquid volume to get him fucked up. The barkeep is actually pretty fucking hot, and Flash wonders if she's a girl or a really good drag queen. He gives her a decent tip and swivels his stool to watch the action.

Guys have been looking hot to Flash for long enough that he has bothered to come here at all, but this is a goddamn education. SHIELD is famous for finding guys who are actually hot and not just fit, but this is ridiculous. Among the alarming things Flash has come to suspect about himself is that he had ulterior motives for being such a prick in high school. He's starting to think he might be some kind of sadist or something, which retroactively makes beating up all those scrawny nerds really suspect. Memories of light, wiry boys in his arms are becoming more and more obtrusive lately, and he just about swallows his tongue at the pair that take the main stage next. 

It's like some guilty fantasy of his come to life, and that's ridiculous. The dark-haired one is about Flash's size, his shoulder-length hair shadowing his face and adding to the dangerous, wild aura he projects, and his blonde partner is tiny and almost angelic. There's complete physical trust between the two, the blonde letting the other guy pick him up and pull his clothes off and otherwise manhandle him.

Flash's drink is hopelessly watered down with melted ice cubes by the time he remembers he's holding it, and he swills the whole thing without taking his eyes off the stage. Yeah, he's probably bi. He feels the way he did at eighteen, sitting there with sweaty palms and with his heart in his mouth, transfixed by a gorgeous girl's all-out attack on the pole. Well. It's good to know these things about himself. Once that first song is over, he's capable of turning around to order his second drink, and his heart rate goes back to something approaching normal. He can deal with this. He'll be fine.

For a while Flash is fine. He just sits there and watches the action. He can't really see the third stage from here, but that's all right. There's plenty to see here. The music ranges from classic to terrible, but he minds it less and less as he works on his third drink, and really, even with massive personal revelations, Flash is fine.

And then his downfall comes strutting onto the main stage, looking like the wet dream he didn't dare have in high school. Skinny and lanky, in a goddamn sweater-vest and huge glasses, he could fucking be Peter Parker with spiked hair, heavy eyeliner, and all switches set to 'smoulder.' Flash adjusts himself while trying not to look like he's adjusting himself, and takes a takes a big nervous gulp of his drink. And then the dancer looks over his shoulder in just the right way, and Flash nearly spews rum and coke onto the carpet in front of him, because the guy doesn't just look like Peter Parker. He _is_ Peter Parker, and that is nothing Flash can deal with right now. He's proud of himself for managing to swallow, not scream, and not hyperventilate. What the fuck is Peter even doing here? Has he always been queer, or is this gay-for-pay, and what about Gwen? He drains his glass and sets it on the bar without looking, not sure if he's more horrified or aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are working to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZZUY32iCzU


	2. Chapter 2

Peter is honestly proud of his persona. Rock doesn't have the same menace Winter does, but there's a hard, wild, debauched quality to him that's a lot of fun. And it helps him feel safe. Not so much from the clientele, because security is good and manners are encouraged, but from his own stage fright. It's stepping out on onstage that's the worst, because he has to wipe off the pole and he always feels like the dork he is. Even the protective skin of Rock can't make this kind of maintenance sexy, so he just gets it over with to get to the good part. Peter loves pole tricks. Once he's really started, it's easy, with the slick metal a cool comfort in his hands, between his legs, in the crook of his elbow. Wherever it needs to be.

Everyone who isn't just passing through SHIELD has some kind of gimmick or specialty. Star exudes conventional masculinity while being an archetypal twink, Winter adds terror to arousal like nitrous in an engine, and Rock is a goddamn acrobat. Peter works hard on his routine, and every single training bruise is worth it on nights like this one, where he's at the top of his game and the humidity or atmospheric pressure or whatever is just right. He sticks when he wants to stick and slides when he wants to slide. He's able to drop his head to within an inch of the stage in a suicide dive before flipping back up and shifting his grip to hold steady. The whole club goes silent as he walks a perfect circle through the air to invert again. He has seen the move in the mirror, and can feel that it's perfect this time, that it looks impossible, like he must be on wires. He takes a breath when his legs contact the pole again, but that's it before he spins his way back down to begin again. 

Steve always says he feels like he needs his inhaler just watching Peter, and even with all his frantic energy, it's good to take a break at the end of the song to to walk the floor. Dancing on tables and in laps isn't as fun, but it has its moments. Peter had started this out of raw financial desperation, but if he couldn't live with it he would have turned to crime by now. He likes giving wide-eyed guys a year and several profound life experiences younger than himself their first-ever lapdance, and there's a hot older guy with one arm who comes in every few weeks and watches Peter like nothing else exists in the world. He's not here tonight. A table of far older and significantly more fabulous men are, though, and they beckon Peter over and tip him well to spend the next two songs at their table. They're very friendly and teach him some Polari, which will surely be useful in later life. 

Peter thanks them at the end of the second song, and ambles toward the bar to say hi to Natasha and see who else is around. A big guy on a nearby bar stool catches his eye, and then he realizes that it's fucking Flash Thompson and forgets to breathe for a moment. Granted, repressed homosexuality would explain why Flash was such a shit when they met, but it's still bizarre to see him here. There's no hope that Flash doesn't recognize him right back, because he's staring at Peter like he's in shock.

"So." Peter says. "Hi."

"I... I, uh... what are you _doing_ here?"

And Peter knows that he really means 'how did you get here?' but the literal question strikes him as hilarious, and he laughs before he can help it, hard enough that he has to slump onto the stool next to Flash to giggle to a stop. He feels drunk, even though he can't drink at SHIELD because it would get them in trouble, and has to content himself with cases of cheap beer or bad vodka in soda at house parties like all the other underage college kids. "Sorry," he says, waving a hand, "I know what you mean. I'm not actually stripping to pay my tuition, I have a scholarship. But I still need to pay my everything-else bills, and this does."

Flash has clearly matured as a person, because while the expression on his face shifts as several stupid questions flicker through his mind in a couple of seconds, what he actually says is, "Can I buy you a drink?" Peter has to acknowledge this as a tactful and gentlemanly thing to say under the circumstances, even if it avails them nothing.

"Not for another four months and change, but I'll drink my free soda with you if you want to catch up."


	3. Chapter 3

Flash is having a weird fucking night. Not necessarily bad-weird, though. He had started liking Peter even back in high school, so rediscovering him is pretty cool. He makes sure to tip Peter's various colleagues and keeps calming his nerves until he's pretty wasted. Bad as he can be sober, Flash is a pretty good drunk. He just gets happy and huggy and friendly, and Peter doesn't seem to mind being leaned on a little. He just laughs and teases Flash in a way somewhere between the professional playfulness of a stripper and genuine flirting. Flash might be drunk, but he's pretty sure that when he gives his number to Peter, Peter really _is_ ducking backstage to save it and not to throw it away.

"Hey, Pete?" he asks when Peter comes back. His vision is going a little blurry, but just a little. He doesn't feel like puking, which is always a plus.

"Yeah?"

"Don' wanna pry, but what's the story on you and Gwen?"

Peter sighs, gazing off into space for a moment. "It wasn't a huge deal, she just went to Oxford and I didn't." He shrugs. "She still calls me. We're cool."

"Okay. She know about..?" He waves a hand to indicate the entire club, and Peter laughs and takes a swig of his water.

"Yeah. I'm bi, and that was enough for her."

"Cool."

He chuckles, and rubs his hand back and forth over Flash's buzz cut as he tries not to purr like a cat and rub himself against it. "Glad you approve."

"I always really liked Gwen. But yeah, I'm probably bi, too. You guys are seriously hot."

Peter laughs again. "Oh my god! You are an _adorable_ drunk, what the hell?"

"I'm glad you like it," Flash says, enunciating carefully, and Peter smiles fondly at him, sparkling eyes set off by dark makeup.

"Give me your phone, you silly bastard." Flash obediently hands it over, and Peter puts himself into the contacts list. "There. You can call me when you're sober." Flash starts humming the song, and Peter lightly smacks his shoulder. "Moron."

"You're pretty," Flash says softly, and Peter just smiles and finishes his drink, going off to dance on someone's table for a while. Flash makes his only slightly unsteady way to one of the side stages and tips a pretty Asian boy. He had set a good amount of singles aside for tonight, because nobody likes a cheapskate. Once it's very late and he has given almost all of it away, he decides to go home before he gets sloppy. On his way out he brushes against an older guy who looks like a professor. It takes Flash a moment to register the sleeve of his coat dangling empty, and he's almost drunk enough to do something dumb like asking him what happened. Instead he just apologizes and hurries on to the sidewalk, the cool night air waking him up a little. He makes sure to stand under a streetlight, and calls a cab. 

Flash usually doesn't worry much about his personal safety, but he's pretty fucked up. He manages to get home unmolested, though, and wakes up with a horrible taste in his mouth and a queasy headache and a dim sense of dread. This last crystallizes when he remembers how drunk he was and how dumb he acted. He groans and buries his face in his hands, only a little consoled by memories of Peter calling him cute. Peter's a good guy, but a stripper is a stripper, and there's a high probability that he was just being nice to the drunk idiot. It's like, forty percent of his job description.

After a day and a night of recovering and obsessing, Flash finally fucking sacks up and calls Peter. It's a Sunday afternoon, which seems like a time when SHIELD wouldn't even be open, but the phone rings long enough for Flash to feel like a total asshole. And then Peter picks up, and his voice is kind of husky, the sound almost touchable.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Peter. This is Flash. You wanna hang out or something?"

Peter apparently does want to hang out or something. He agrees to meet Flash tomorrow night for takeout and video games, which seems appropriately bro-like to start with. Flash snorts at his own thought processes. Yeah, real flatware would just be too gay. Better get his toes wet first.


	4. Chapter 4

At first Peter isn't even sure if Flash is cruising him or not. Everything is very casual, very masculine and "normal." It's only after three dates that Peter realizes that yes, these are dates. Shy, weird, slightly maladjusted dates, but still dates. He and Flash are on the beat-up couch in his apartment, leaning against each other in a way that's almost but not quite cuddling as they watch the end of 'Predator.' It's not exactly a date movie, but as Peter shifts a little closer, Flash puts his arm around him. Peter smiles and kisses the side of his neck. Flash jumps like it burned, but he doesn't let go or move away. He just shivers and stares at the rolling credits as if this isn't happening. That's annoying, so Peter slides into his lap, straddling him and blocking his view.

"Hey," he murmurs, rolling his hips as Flash gives him a 'transfixed by headlights' kind of look. "That's better." He cups Flash's jaw in his hand, running the pad of this thumb over that pink lower lip. "Damn, you've got a pretty mouth." Flash whimpers, and his eyes flutter shut as Peter kisses him. He melts back into the couch and grips Peter's hips hard enough to bruise, making him shiver. "Were all those beatdowns a sex thing?" he mumbles into Flash's mouth, and the guilty way Flash stiffens and moans tells him everything. "They kind of were for me, too," he murmurs into Flash's ear, tracing the edge with his tongue. "Did you have any idea? Did you know I was hard when you held me down on the bench in the locker room?"

Flash whines, helpless and sharp. "I was hard, too," he whispers, and moans as Peter grinds on him, slow and shameless.

"I still like it rough. What about you?"

"I... I need to try it."

"Okay. Let's try."

It's really Peter's own fault. Of course Flash isn't really ready. Things do go well at first, though. Flash is still huge and strong and can just pick Peter up and pin him to the bed. He looms overhead, eyes wide and dark as he takes in Peter below him, and he bites his neck hard and holds on. Usually Peter would try to minimize marks for work, but right now this is exactly what he wants. Flash tears him out of his clothes and bites and scratches him all over.

"You can hit me, you know," Peter murmurs into his ear. "Open hand, but hard if you want."

Flash whines, and rolls Peter onto his belly, spanking him so hard there's numbness before the pain of each strike. He makes desperate, helpless little noises, like he's the one being hurt, and each one of those tiny sounds makes Peter feel like he's about to come. The pain is good too, and even better when Flash is rutting along Peter's hole without pushing in, fucking against him and pushing him down into the mattress with each rough, messy thrust. He's wild and demanding and rakes his nails down Peter's back, making him writhe and groan because he fucking loves that. He wonders how Flash would be with a flogger, lifting his hips to grind back on that nice big cock. Flash pins his shoulders to the mattress and makes desperate little choked noises as he bites Peter again and again, letting go to scratch him again before going back to holding on hard enough to bruise.

It's wild and good and hurts just right, the broad head of Flash's cock bumping and rubbing and driving Peter crazy. "Come on me," he gasps near the end, "fucking come on me, Flash, _please!_ "

Flash moans and shakes, peeling the condom off and straddling Peter, humping along his back and stroking himself, heavy and powerful. Peter manages to worm a hand between himself and the mattress to grip his own cock, just needing a few slow, hard squeezes until he's coming. Flash is too, and the splash of slick heat on Peter's back just makes everything better. He shivers and moans, just resting for a moment. Flash is panting, breath warm on the back of Peter's neck.

And then it all fucking goes wrong. Flash starts shaking in a bad way and can't stop, and instead of letting Peter help he kicks him out. Peter is left standing outraged and barely dressed in the hallway, wondering which of them is the bigger asshole.


	5. Chapter 5

Flash knows he should like, call or email Peter or something normal and human, but he just has no idea what to say. It was so good until it was so bad, and he fucking cried and felt guilty and he's not even sure what for, at this point. Well, some of it was for roughing Peter up and then just flinging him out to fend for himself, which makes sense, but he has no idea about the rest of it. He had just fucking fallen apart, and he still doesn't really know why. A little research has told him that there's a thing called 'top drop,' and that he probably had a bad attack of it, but that doesn't really help.

After crying like a bitch for way too long, Flash had managed to take a hot shower and get a drink, putting himself together enough to call Gwen, whose number Peter has obligingly given him. The timing is all wrong, but she's up late studying anyway, and is touchingly pleased to hear from him. They talk about all kinds of things, just catching up, and he doesn't actually tell her what's wrong. She sounds concerned anyway, and tells him to take care of himself before she finally hangs up. Flash sighs, and tries to figure out how to do that.

In the end he just goes to SHIELD on one of Peter's shifts, because he's a fucking coward and the shit kind of masochist. He feels like a complete asshole, and wishes he had the classic huge trench coat and slouch fedora, or a newspaper with holes in it or something. But this is one way to at least make sure that Peter is okay enough to show up for work. Reading about sub drop and aftercare had made Flash feel like gargling razor blades. Now he lurks by the bar, watching the main stage for Peter.

There's some kind of hold up, but it doesn't last long. Something moody and minimalist and bass-heavy starts to play, and Peter comes slinking out. His hair is wild and he moves in a tight, barely-contained way, his usual heavy eyeliner smeared and completely out of control. The last guy has already wiped the pole for him, so Peter is able to get right to work. He's wearing what appear to be black leather pants and a snow-white button-down that he literally tears open. The place is so quiet Flash can hear the rattle of stray buttons on the stage against the music. Peter slides out of the shirt slowly, caressing his own pale skin with it, teasing with all the red and near-black marks Flash put on it and then revealing them completely, dropping the shirt to the stage. He poses for a moment and then flings himself onto the pole in a way that has to hurt. He twists around it in ways that shouldn't even happen. It looks painful, and Flash shifts in his seat, half-hard and feeling like the worst person in the world.

Peter writhes around the pole for a while and then slides down to stand on stage and slither out of the maybe-real leather pants, revealing tight black shorts that show the bottom curve of his ass, and the marks of Flash's teeth one side. His face burns and he cringes because he doesn't even remember doing that, oh god. He also feels a little cheated, but he'll deal with that later. For now he stares as Peter shamelessly gropes himself. Just as the singer drawls something about being no good at aiming, but she can aim it at you, Peter points straight at Flash in the hottest accusation he has ever seen. He does not dive under the table, but it's a near thing. 

After a moment just long enough for everyone to appreciate the elegant line of Peter's arm, he leaps back onto the pole again, spinning and climbing and twisting himself up into poses that have to hurt. Flash sits and watches the whole thing like a penance, which just keeps going when Peter starts dancing two tables over, hard and challenging and glancing over at Flash until he decides to fuck everything and beckons Peter over once he's free, a crisp hundred between two fingers. Peter smirks down at him as he slides it into the waistband of the tiny shorts. He climbs into Flash's lap and writhes and grinds all over him for the duration of a song Flash doesn't even hear. He digs his nails into the arms of his chair, and for some reason at the end of the song enough pressure has built up that he can say, "I'm sorry I didn't take care of you, Pete."

"You didn't let me take care of you, either," Peter says, settling into Flash's lap. "Are you okay, you meathead?"

Flash smiles, hugging Peter, which is allowed because Peter allows it. "Doing a little better now, you fuckin' nerd."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Peter's song a little too much, I think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVB2mXCTbNs


End file.
